A Favoured Servant
by LizzieBoleyn
Summary: Anna Reynolds has served the Darcys for many years. A trusted employee sees and says far more than a stranger might expect. Pride and Prejudice, of course!
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I posted this story on the Derbyshire Writers' Guild site in 2004 and had forgotten about it until a clearout of my files recently: I thought I might try its luck here. At one point, we diverge from the magnificent book to a scene following on from the best-ever adaptation, the 1995 BBC version. Apologies in advance to the purists.

**PART ONE**

_August 1811_

"Mrs Reynolds!"

The housekeeper of proud Pemberley turned sharply at the sound of his voice from the stairs. "Yes, Mr Darcy?" she enquired, folding her hands at the girdle of her sober grey gown.

Leaning against the banister her young master was, she reflected, the perfect model of relaxed authority. Only one who knew him so well as she would discern the endearingly nervous twiddling of the signet ring on his little finger as he peeked at her from beneath unreasonably lush black lashes.

"I should be grateful for a few moments of your time, Mrs Reynolds." Darcy raised his voice just enough to ensure it would carry to his guests, assembled in the Blue Drawing Room. "Would you be so kind as to come to my study in - ten minutes?"

The old lady dropped a resigned curtsy. "Very good, Sir."

* * *

Thus it was that at the appointed time Anna Reynolds found herself tapping respectfully at the closed door of the Master's study. The deep, pleasant voice of the gentleman bade her enter and, as she did so, starting to make her reverence, Mr Darcy stood, shaking his dark head. 

"No formality, dear Reynolds. Please, sit down," he said, drawing out a chair with his own hand while his coaxing tone confirmed all the lady's suspicions as to the nature of this interview. Perched on the edge of a well-padded leather chair, she studied him, the young man she had grown to love dearly through her two-and-twenty years' service to his family. It was folly, even when he had been but a wide-eyed scamp of four, to imagine any one could deceive Master Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Darcy leaned forward in his seat, elbows on the desk, chin rested on his steepled fingers. "Mrs Reynolds, something troubles you," he stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I am well, Sir."

"I am sure you are in excellent health; indeed, if I suspected otherwise for an instant, you should be consulting now with Doctor Jones and not myself. However: you and I have been familiar these many years. We are neither of us, I trust, deficient in our wits. I have been aware all evening that something has _disturbed _you. Come: what has you distracted? For when Mr Bingley requested tea and was presented with coffee, I knew it must be a matter _most _serious."

"Oh, Sir! _How am I ever to resist when he must coax in that boyish way of his?_ she wondered, her lips pressed together against the agitated flow of her words. "'Tis naught, Mr Darcy, only Reynolds being a foolish old dame."

"Mrs Reynolds." She watched one finely marked black brow make a slow ascent of his forehead and knew he would not rest until he had her confession, for that was the manner of _The Master_, accustomed to having his will. "You may deny the obvious all you choose, but you do not persuade me. Come, you know my stubborn temper well enough to be sure I will keep us here all night, if I must! Pray, spare us both much discomfort, and tell me what may be done to relieve your unhappiness."

His _stubborn temper_, aye she was familiarly acquainted with that, having watched him grow from mischievous scapegrace - when his father was not at home to condemn _conduct unbecoming _in the future Master of Pemberley - to this grave, responsible young man, lord of a great honour, yet ever with time to attend the foibles of those for whom he cared. No less well did she know his clear judgement; and his affectionate heart.

Mr Darcy gazed steadily into the eyes of his beloved housekeeper and sighed. "Enough of this dramatising, Mrs Reynolds, tell me! Has one of the footmen been discovered drunk in the orangery? Has one of my guests offended - ah!"

The lady dropped her chin. "I am an old fool to be put so out of spirits by a chance remark overheard from a corridor!" she muttered.

Darcy rose, rounding his desk in four long strides to lift her, delicate as if she were a Duchess, to her feet. "Foolish or no, you remain my dearest Reynolds, and this _remark_ has caused you pain," he said, fixing the big brown eyes she could not resist on hers. _I first looked into them on my very first morning here,_ she reflected, _when Old Mr Darcy brought forward his heir for my reverence. _Those eyes had possessed a power even then, which had only grown with their owner's maturing. Expelling a sigh, she submitted herself to the inevitable.

"As I brought fresh water top the ladies' rooms, Sir, I heard the younger - Miss Bingley, Sir - declare to her sister that _when I am mistress of Pemberley, Louisa, that insolent wretch Reynolds will be the first to go!_"

Darcy regarded her solemnly for a moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, he threw back his handsome head and let fall a sharp, short bark of laughter.

"Great God, the harridan goes too far! But my dear Mrs Reynolds, do you think your master _quite_ insane? Caroline Bingley will become _Mistress of Pemberley_ over my dead body!"

He watched the creases smooth from her careworn face - worn, he never forgot, by years of diligent service to his father and himself - and lightly lifted both her hands to his lips. "Come, do you imagine she receives _encouragement_ from _me_ for her pretensions? That over-dressed, over-rouged female with the voice of an enraged fishwife and the manners of the _haute ton_ at its worst? Am I so hopeless a case, do you think, that the best I might aspire to in a wife is a _Miss Bingley_?"

"Oh, Sir, no! I _know_ you could never make an offer to such a creature, and yet - well, it gave me a proper turn, to hear her boast of how she'll bring _order_ to this house and _instil some proper discipline_ into our good people..."

He gave her a quick, fierce hug. "My very dear Reynolds, be assured by me: Caroline Bingley's dreams will never be realised. Indeed, should you even _imagine_ you see me inclining toward my poor friend's long-faced sister, I must insist you despatch me to the Windsor Bedlam direct, for I'm sure it shall mean I've gone madder than His Majesty himself!"

She returned his embrace with a shy one of her own. "I am sorry, Sir, I should never have troubled you with such a trifling affair. You are, as ever, too shrewd to be deceived by me."

"My excellent Mrs Reynolds is more valuable to me than ten thousand Miss Bingleys! Why, were she not so_ tied_ to her unfortunate brother, I should never have her nearer the house than Mr Wiggans' gatehouse lodge! Now, that will be all, thank you. The family will shift for itself this evening; take your leisure and enjoy it."

Chuckling, she quit his study with a final curtsy, marvelling again at the wisdom of so young a master.

Mr Darcy too chuckled as he sank back into his comfortable chair, hands linked behind his head. The insolence of his best friend's sister, tolerable only for the pleasure of Bingley's company, became more outrageous with each visit she made to the house she fondly hoped, one day, to rule.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, though she would never conceive of it, was wearily familiar with her stamp of womanhood. From his earliest youth he had cultivated the ability to recognise the fortune-huntress, the shrill _society dame_ with sights set on ten thousand a year and a mighty Derbyshire estate. There had been moments, as the years had progressed, during which he despaired of ever finding a woman able to love _him_ and not merely his fortunate position in the world.

"Well, Miss Bingley, you may make all the plans you choose," he announced, helping himself to a glass of the finest port; a small glass only, for he was considered quite the novelty in wider society for the moderacy of his alcoholic consumption. "For Pemberley will never bow to _you_ as mistress. Ugh! As much chance of George Wickham making an honest man as of my ever wedding _you_!"


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

_August 1812_

"Mrs Reynolds! Mrs Reynolds, make haste, the Master's home!"

The shriek from without so disconcerted the occupant of Pemberley's cosiest corner that, in rising to respond, she dropped the new stitch she had been applying to a thick winter shawl, destined to make a Christmas offering for Miss Georgiana. "What ever is this nonsense you screech, Betsy Murray?" she scolded, tossing aside the spoiled work for later amendment. As she opened her door in time to prevent the eager scullerymaid from assaulting it, with both fists by her stance, the cry was repeated.

"Make haste, Mrs Reynolds, for the Master's home, aye, and Miss Georgie with him! Old Roberts sent me to fetch you directly, their coach is even now before the doors!"

"Miss _Georgiana_, if you please." The reprimand, automatic and unheeded, fell from her lips as she straightened her lace cap, setting herself to follow the insolent chit at the most determined pace her dignified station would allow. _That Sarah Jessup, the quietest upstairs maid we ever had, should have produced such a hoyden! _she mused. _The Lord, as Mr Thompkiss is apt to say, does move in the most _mysterious_ ways!_

All thought of taming Miss Betsy flew from Anna Reynolds' head as she observed the affecting scene in the marble Entrance Hall from above. Mr Darcy, dark and towering, was embracing his sister, whose silver-gold curls fell in disorder about slim shoulders that heaved softly. _What ever is the matter with my poor chicks?_

"Sir! Miss Darcy! We did not look to see you home so soon!" she cried, hastening down the stairs to assume management of the footmen as they struggled with the luggage - surely the same trunks she had herself packed with loving care before the holiday household's departure for the coast. "Jenny! Run along, girl, fetch coffee for the Master and Miss Georgiana. Here, Miss, let me take your bonnet and coat."

"Th - thank you, Mrs Reynolds." Dear Heaven, the poor child was in tears, and Mr Darcy - had he ever looked so _grim_? And where was _she_, Mrs Mary Younge, that thought herself ever so high above the Household as _Companion to Miss Darcy_?

"We will take coffee in the Crimson State Drawing Room, Mrs Reynolds if you please." The words were rapped out, despite the courteous close, and accompanied with a look from the gentleman of the most beseeching urgency. _No questions, Reynolds dear,_ his eyes implored. _Not now, perhaps not ever._

Careless of how his servants stared, Mr Darcy guided his sister backward toward the elegant formal room he had named, seldom used by reason of its size and granduer, which overlooked the lake, his tall person stooped deliberately to conceal her tear-stained face from avid eyes. "That will be all," he added, an afterthought, to the silent watchers.

"And what are you gawking at, Tom Roberts?" Wrong to accuse the nearest to hand of a shared offence, yet the brusque words released the fluttering dread in Mrs Reynolds' stomach. The young lady - everyone knew - had been intended to remain the summer through at Ramsgate; the gentleman, in Town until further notice. What could bring them home, without warning, in haste and distress, so early?

_And where ever is that insufferable creature, Mary Younge, gone?_

* * *

For two days the servants whispered, every eye noting how Miss Darcy followed her brother close as a second shadow, red-eyed and fretful if she was a moment left alone. Mrs Reynolds sought to stamp out improper speculations - _perhaps Miss Bingley was right, a little more discipline _is_ required hereabouts,_ she decided morosely - but without noticeable success. 

There was nothing malicious in the talk; from that, she took comfort. For who was to deny that some disaster had befallen their young lady? What were they, her own folk, to do to help her?

Mr Darcy, she assured the bolder spirits that dared seek her opinion, would have all well in hand. As to Mrs Younge; well, her disappearance was naught to be regretted.

"Aye, that simpering ninny!" Mr Stevens, the gentleman's valet, was apt to take liberties, Anna Reynolds considered, on account of his intimacy with their master. When the senior servants gathered for tea in the kitchen, he was not to be silenced by an old woman's tutting. "Thinking herself made a _lady_ by being paid to attend on one!"

"She came with the finest references, having attended the Earl's daughters afore our lady." Cook, too, a Lambton native to the horror of the Master's more _fashionable_ friends, was never found lacking when opinions were sought. "Lady Matlock was loath to lose her, even to her niece, so they say."

"And Lady Matlock may have her back again!" Stevens countered with spirit. "Fancy she sent her to Miss Georgiana to learn manners, I do! If she never sets foot in the estate again, _I_ shan't miss her!"

* * *

Mrs Reynolds pondered much on whether she should bring the Household's chatter to Mr Darcy's attention, only to have the initiative seized from her grasp. Late that second night as, candle in hand, she ended her nightly tour of the house and turned wearily toward the servants' halls and her bed, the summons came. "Mrs Reynolds, Master wants you in his study. _Your very earliest convenience_, he said to say." 

"Then, Mr Edley, I had best go to him directly."

The burly footman flashed her a gap-toothed smile. "Usually what he means, our gent. Goodnight, Mrs Reynolds."

Darcy was standing at the window when she entered at his instruction, coatless and staring out across the shadowy sweep of his park. Omitting to offer a seat as he turned, he declared himself with all the directness he possessed. "The name of Mrs Younge is no more to be spoken in this house, Mrs Reynolds. Be so good as to make all our people aware of the fact."

"Very good, Sir." If he had slept more than an hour in the last week, it did not show. "Miss Georgiana, Sir..."

He flinched visibly. "My sister has been grossly wronged, Mrs Reynolds." The words emerged reluctantly, as if weighted with lead. "I will not see her _further _distressed by the ill-considered murmuring of her servants."

"Of course not, Mr Darcy."

Briefly, the gloom lifted; the half-smile he sent her began its life in his shadowed eyes. "Miss Georgiana and I intend to remain a month or more here, and I anticipate that my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, will shortly be calling. Please ensure that the Quebec Suite is at its _military_ brightest to receive him."

"Yes, Sir." The young lady's secondary guardian calling, this was alarming indeed! Still, if the poor child had fallen into some folly, she must have had the wit to confess all to her devoted brother. He would, not matter what the offence, forgive it.

Darcy eyed the discreet and deferential woman before him, her eyes cast down: the picture of the proper servant. _Ah, but you have never been that, dearest Reynolds! Were you so, I should have no compunction in dismissing you without another word. And that, I cannot do._

He cleared his throat. "I am not deaf to the conversations which occur in Pemberley's corners. You may inform any that should enquire, Mary Younge is not the respectable woman that myself, my uncle and aunt imagined. Further speculations are unacceptable. Neither myself or my sister were satisfied with the performance of her duties."

"Her name will not be spoke by any of us, Sir, rest assured. She was not _- liked_ among our people, Mr Darcy."

Again he favoured her with the ghost of his usual smile. "I doubted she was, Mrs Reynolds: I was informed long ago by the Earl that certain members of his household dared name her _difficult_ on occasion."

There was more, but it was not her place to probe his mind. "It would have been quite impossible for Miss Georgiana to remain at Ramsgate unchaperoned, Sir."

"Quite so." He exhaled the words, relieved to be spared the effort of excusing changed plans, and all the while revealing more of himself than he dreamed to his oldest adherent. "That will be all, Mrs Reynolds; I thank you for delaying your retirement to come to me. Forgive me!"

"Don't trouble yourself on my account, Mr Darcy; I was touring the house a final time when you sent for me. Bid you goodnight, Sir."

"Goodnight, dear Reynolds." He spoke the words to the closing door, allowing his stiffly-held shoulders to slump at last. _It is done, Darcy. Georgiana's secret is safe, and by a small precaution now, a little harm is prevented. Dear Heaven, had you only protected her so well from the scheming of a fortune hunter as you do from the tattle of her servants!_


End file.
